The Life of the Weevil 
by its tip: the work was just beginning. At 
the top of the rod, a lethal stake, the Weevil 
is suspended in mid-air, at right angles, far 
from the supporting surface. She is dried- 
up, dead since I know not how many days. 
The legs are stiff and contracted under the 
abdomen. Even if they retained the flex- 
ibility and the power of extension which was 
theirs in life, they would not be able, by a 
long way, to reach the support of the acorn. 
What has happened then, that the poor 
wretch should be impaled like an insect in 
our collections with a pin stuck through its 
head? 
What has happened is a_ workshop- 
accident. Because of the length of her brad- 
awl, the Weevil begins by working upright, 
standing on her hind-legs. Imagine a slip, a 
false move of the two clinging grapnels; and 
the unskilful Weevil will instantly lose her 
footing, dragged away by the elasticity of 
the probe, which she must have forced 
slightly and bent at the start. Thus lifted 
to some distance from her foothold, she 
vainly struggles, hanging in the air; nowhere 
can her tarsi, those safety anchors, find any- 
thing to grip. She succumbs exhausted at 
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